Seven Chapters
by Zeff N Company
Summary: Written for Howling: Once upon a time, there was an almost empty room, a chair, a table, and her first drawing. A brief glimpse at what could have been.
1. The Meeting

"I've never seen you before," he comments, looking at her with a blank expression. She only giggles, her hands clutching a blank sketchpad.

"Well, _hello_ to you, too," she teases, to which he simply grunts as he sits down on the floor - across from her - of the almost empty room. After all, she's gone and taken the only chair. In front of the only table.

Neither asks for a name, and neither gives one.

He shifts in his spot after a while, restless, before he looks her way again. She's still clutching the sketchpad in her hands, she is also holding a pencil as she works intently.

"...what are you drawing?" he finally asks, the curiosity killing him.

"No peeking," is her only answer in a sing-song voice. To that he huffs, and looks away.

"I don't really care, you know."

She hums in acknowledgement, and continues her task. "If you stay, I'll let you see it when I'm done."

The boy shrugs, but doesn't move from his spot. And as he continues to sneak impatient glances at her, she only smiles as her drawing takes shape.


	2. The Drawing

The first time he insults her drawing, is also his last.

True to her word, she shows him the very first drawing she has ever done for this bleak room. As he takes the paper in his hand, he balks openly at what looks like a smudge of black with odd scribbles around it.  
"...what _is_ this?"

"That's you, silly!" and she giggles into her palm.

"It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

Only when he says the words does he realize how insensitive they are. He regrets, even as the girl stops laughing, her eyes downcast.

_...oh, great._

Then he hears a soft, almost inaudible sniffle, and he proceeds to panic.

"I mean, you drew me..._me_! Did you take a good _look_ at me before you began? See this duckling's rear end for hair? This leftover tent for a coat? Well?"

As he flusters, he yanks at said hair and coat as he rattles on in a self-depreciating tirade. And as she watches, she is at first puzzled. And then, there is a giggle, and she's smiling again.

In his relief, he suddenly realizes exactly what he's doing to himself. He turns away, awkwardly, and nervously coughs into his hand.

Taking back the drawing he had dropped on the floor, she looks it over, then looks up at him.

"Well..." she begins again, "I don't think you look all that bad."

He glances back at her, still nervous, still pretty much humiliated with his own act.

"I'm leaving," he informs curtly. With that, he starts for the door.

Then he pauses as he feels a small hand on his sleeve gently pulling him back. He does not look back, but he stops all the same.

"Thank you," he hears her whisper, and he suddenly feels rather warm and uncomfortable.

The moment she lets go of him, he is out the door and stalking down the hall.

_...your welcome._


	3. The Gallery

He continues to visit her in that almost empty room, and she in turn continues to draw.

She draws many things, to which he notes don't show any improvement in style. Much to his distaste, she asks for his help in using these same drawings to decorate her walls.

"I'm confused."

She looks up over yet another drawing, and tilts her head to the side as she asks why.

Meanwhile, he continues to stare at the newly set up gallery of sketches. "What _are_ these things you draw? This kid, this duck, and this...weird, dog-like thing..."

A pause, and then a careful question. "...you don't recognize them?"

"Not really," he answers as he turns. He searches her expression for any hint that he may have upset her again, but all he gets is a blank look. "...why?"

She stares back, and for a moment he sees the slightest hint of sadness...perhaps pity, even. And then she quickly bows over her drawing again.

"No reason," she mumbles.

He looks her way a moment longer, looks back up at the wall of pictures, and then looks back again.

"Your pencil's getting too short," he notes. "Is that the only one you have?"

She doesn't answer immediately, focusing on what she draws. But finally she nods.

He stares at the pencil which has been so well-used since his first visit, and then turns back to the wall.

"I'll help you find another one. Vexen and Zexion might have a few spares somewhere," he suddenly informs her. Then he turns his head back. "...no promises, okay?"

She looks up, and smiles as she nods. "Okay. Thank you."

Clearing his throat, he turns and makes his way out again, barely stopping to raise a hand in a wave. She watches with a tired amusement at how hard he tries to remain so aloof.

And in her hands is the partially finished drawing of a boy with a single keyblade, in a place so dark and gloomy. In that picture, the boy is preparing to give up his life, but for what reason, it has only not been drawn yet.

She's not sure why, but the picture fills her with a certain sadness, and as she looks at it, she wonders what that boy was thinking, what he was feeling, in that moment.

Taking a deep breath, she continues to draw.


	4. The Friend

_**"...you don't recognize them?"**_

He had not let on as to how much that had bothered him, as it bothered him all week. He was already so uncomfortable over the fact that he was the only one of the thirteen who had no memory of life before the Superior found him...and now, _this_.

She watched as he gently pried one of the pictures off the wall, and stared solemnly at it. The one he held was the same one he had pointed out to her before, with the boy and two companions on their adventures.

But all he saw was that boy, and the thing the boy held. It was long and slender, so unlike any typical blade. And at the end was a strange shape, as though the boy had a giant key...or even...

..._a keyblade?_

"...don't tell me," he murmured, fingers tentatively running over the lines.

She watched him, so unsure of what to say. He seemed to no longer notice her or his surroundings, and his expression seemed...lost.

"That boy...it can't be..." he whispered, "...is that...is that supposed to be...me?"

And then a large hand deposited itself upon his head, and there was a low hum from somewhere above, and then a voice he recognized quite well.

"Let's see...weird hair, scrawny like a stick, hangs out with weird critters from another planet..." then with a decisive grunt, a finger reached down and tapped him on the nose.  
"Yup. That's you, little buddy."

He frowned and shoved the hand off his head promptly. "Like **you're** one to talk about weird hair."

The man - who indeed had outlandish red hair spiking every way possible - merely laughed at this. Then the man spotted her across the room, and whistled appreciatively. "So _this_ is why you've been deserting your best friend and disappearing right after missions so often. Man, I should've known."

"It's _not_ what you think!"

"And what _do_ you think I'm thinking? Unless you really..."

He turned a bright red that rivaled his friend's hair color, and furiously made his exit. "That's it! I'm not taking this!"

As he disappeared around the corner, the man's grin slowly left his face, and then even a single trace of a smile was gone.

"...don't hurt him, okay?"

She looked up in question, but the man's back was to her, and she couldn't see his expression.

"Sometimes...I think it's probably for the better that he doesn't know. At least...it's why he's still here."

Then the man scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, and took his own leave from the place. When he finally did turn around, he was grinning again, and waved.

"See you around, eh?"

And then he was gone.


	5. The Promise

When he next visits her, he does not stop talking.

In any other situation, it would have been almost delightful to hear him confide in her with so much trust, but what he says now is not a matter to take lightly.

As he speaks of himself, of what he knows, and what is frustrating him - what has been frustrating him for so long - she finds herself unable to look up at him, just as he does not face her as he speaks.

"Why am I the only one with no memory?" he asks. There is no answer, and he does not ask for one as he continues asking the questions that have no answer. "And even so, why am I the one with the keyblade? Why me? ...why only me?"

For a while, there is silence - a moment of brooding that seems almost disrespectful to break at any wrong moment.

And then he speaks again:

"I have to figure this out." And he lifts his head, staring straight ahead at the wall he is facing, brows narrowed. "If the Organization can't tell me anything...then I'll just have to find my answer elsewhere."

And then she looks up, and stares at him. For a moment, she can't believe him...she is afraid to believe him.  
"...you're leaving?"

"Nothing will be solved if I stay."

There is an ache now, and again she bows her head over her sketchpad. It is on its last piece of paper, but it remains blank. At last, she is not too sure what she is going to draw there.

Finally, he turns to her.

"This is not goodbye, you know. We'll see each other again."

"How-"

"I'm not sure either, alright? But I just know...somehow, I just know it."

And he places a hand over the right side of his chest, where one's heart would be. For so long, he had been told he didn't have a heart, and felt no beat there. But what he feels now, is an unexplainable certainty. The feeling...

"It's a promise, then?"

Snapped out of his reverie, he looks back at her. At last, she is smiling again, though not as radiantly as she usually does.

"We'll see each other again...it's a promise."

He pauses heavily, and then he slowly nods. For a moment, however brief, he almost smiles.

"...yeah."


	6. The Wait

It is the man that eventually comes to visit after what seems like a long time.

He does not say much, neither does he stay long, but what he does is deliver a parting gift: a new sketchpad, and a box of coloring pencils.

And while he is no longer there, she is finally put to use. She sees more of the man, and more of the others that she knew he and the man were colleagues with...or comrades.

The Organization XIII, all people without hearts.

At last, she meets the one in her pictures, and just as she had to let him go, she lets this one go, too.

They have a long road ahead of them, but their path is not one she can follow.

All she can do now, is wait.

When she sees him again, he does not seem to remember her, but for a moment, she does not let it bother her.

For at last, he is smiling like he never smiled before, just as he has never seemed this happy before. At last, he has the peace he never had before, without his memory - or loss of it - to distress him. At last, he is the child he didn't let himself be before, and she sees it all.

But that brief moment cannot last, for even though he is happy, he has to know the truth. And even though the truth hurts, she has to be the one to tell him.

And when the time comes that, she once again lets him go, to reclaim the destiny he could not remember.

Even in those moments of sadness, of meetings and farewells, she holds on to the words of that day.

_**"We'll see each other again...it's a promise."**_

And so, she waits.


	7. The Reunion

A small, tropical island, with the ocean, the beach, and the large hanging trees that, while ancient, are sturdy and strong.

He does not really know this place, never has he actually been here, but his Other - the one he is now a part of - assures him that this is the place. And when he looks up, he believes that assurance.

He spots her waiting for him there, at the beach, and as he swims over, his heart races with excitement.

Even before he gets to her, he is bowled over by the overjoyed comrades of his Other, and the feelings that bubble from this greeting is shared with him. There is so much happiness in this moment - happiness to be alive, to be home, to be with friends again.

And when he looks up, he in turn shares his own happiness with his Other.

The happiness to see her again.

_**"See? We met again, like we promised."**_

For a brief moment, they do not see their Others. All there is, is them, for who they are. He smiles with a radiance, and she returns that smile with her own, the smile that he finally remembers.

"I...I'm back," his Other finally says, to which her Other smiles and extends a hand to him.

"Welcome home."

The hands meet, at last a direct contact.

No more Organization XIII, no more battles, no more false fronts or searching for answers.

It was all right here, in this little place. All of them, together.

It was good to be home.


End file.
